Hildur Guðnadóttir - Hildur Gudnadottir - The Snow Queen

Although she hasn't lived in Iceland for ten years, Hildur Guðnadóttir is perhaps the best-known face of the island's art music scene. Having grown up alongside the development of Kitchen Motors – the do-it-all cultural association that built, brick by brick, Icelandic music's escape beyond its own borders – the young cellist soon found an important patron in that living institution that is Jóhann Jóhannsson, from whom she inherited, among other things, a fervent creative eclecticism. So today Hildur manages to run in parallel a solo career built on electroacoustic experimentation, numerous performances offered to galleries and contemporary art institutions, various collaborations as an instrumentalist with several fellow Icelandic acts, and her involvement in the increasingly collective design of múm. On the occasion of the release of "Saman", her third album released by the storied Touch label, we managed, not without difficulty, to reach the extremely busy composer via email, to sketch out with her a rough outline of her multifaceted artistic career.

A little curiosity to start with: a bold commenter on Facebook, replying to our reviews some time ago, came out with a nonsensical gem, saying "Hildur is Iceland"... I'm not entirely sure what they meant, but apparently it's someone who lives there and knows their stuff. What do you think?

Simple: no man is an island!

On that note, what's your relationship with your homeland?

I love Iceland and its people a great deal, but I also disagree quite strongly with how things are going there in many respects. I haven't lived in Iceland for about ten years, and looking at how the country has evolved in that time, I don't think I'll ever go back to live there.

Over the years I've often had the chance to interview Icelandic artists, and when I asked them what they thought about that aura of magic that seems to surround everything coming from the island, many told me it wasn't anything real, but at the same time it was something that local musicians had largely built their European fortunes on. What's your take on this?

I think every Icelandic artist gets asked this question in every single interview, and personally I don't have an answer to give. I don't think we see ourselves as mysterious or anything like that, it's just an image that's been created from the outside. Besides, it would be absurd for anyone to see themselves as mysterious, because each of us is permanently stuck with ourselves! I understand that from the outside it might seem strange to hear so much music coming from such a small nation, but at the end of the day, if you look closely, it's often the same people rotating around several different bands!

More generally, what do you think of all this Icelandic music that has spread across Europe?

I think it's very important for us musicians to find a place outside of Iceland and broaden our audience. I also think travelling is extremely important, and if we all did it more, we'd understand the world a little better.

Talking a bit about your latest work, "Saman", I read that it's built around a study of sonic resonance. Can you explain its premise to us a bit better?

The human voice and the cello have a very similar frequency range, and I found it fascinating to think I could mix them together so that they could truly immerse themselves in one another, as if they were a single thing.

The interaction between sound and voice has always been part of your music. But here it seems to take on a decidedly central role, am I wrong?

No, that's true. On my last two records the voice is clearly more prominent than in previous works. I think I'm going through a phase where I feel a particular urge to use words, and that might be one reason for it.

The record also seems to revolve around a rather dark, oppressive mood, perhaps due to the fairly widespread use of atonal sequences. Is this a consequence of the concept we talked about earlier, or is it part of a deliberate stylistic choice?

I never think in terms of "stylistic choices" when I compose. In recent years my music has taken on an increasingly atonal character, but not because I'm depressed or anything like that. Quite the opposite, actually - I'm pretty cheerful most of the time!

The title, translated, means "together". Is that a reference to the idea of the voice-cello unison?

Yes, exactly. But the record also deals with other themes, like returning home, and being at home while facing yourself, finding peace within yourself.

I found it fairly hard to connect the cover artwork - which seems to hint at a work much more oriented towards ambient music - with the experimental nature of the record. What does this artwork represent?

You should ask Jon (Wozencroft, artist and photographer as well as the boss of Touch, ed.), who took the photo. Still, I think it frames the nature of the record pretty well, showing the meeting and fusion of two different elements - in this specific case, water and vegetation - and how the lines dividing them get distorted after that encounter. In my case, the reference is to the two instruments I worked with on the record: it's right there, when the voice stops, that the cello takes over.

It seems like you focused a bit more on the thornier side of your music, and a bit less on the evocative one. "Without Sinking", for instance, was perhaps a less elaborate but more emotional, heartfelt record. Would you agree?

No, absolutely not, it's exactly the opposite. If anything, "Saman" is a more emotional record, so to speak, since it deals with very personal experiences through the lyrics. "Without Sinking" was freer, more open to perception. But honestly I don't think it's that important to compare them, nor is it productive: each of my works expresses the mood I'm in when I make it, and it wouldn't make sense to wake up one morning and ask yourself whether you feel a certain way because you felt a different way ten years earlier!

What role does the cello play in your music? Do you use the cello to compose?

A huge role, since it's the instrument I've played my whole life, and therefore it's had a decisive influence on how I perceive music, and on how I write. Sometimes I do compose using the cello, yes, but not always.

So what other instruments do you use?

Whatever comes into my hands: harp, piano, vibraphone, string instruments and of course the laptop.

Two years ago you released what I consider to be the peak of your discography, “Leyfðu Ljósinu“. A record that curiously grew out of a forty-minute performance. Would you call it a composition, or was it entirely improvised?

No, it was already fairly structured before I recorded and performed it. There are a few improvised elements, but not many. I had to record it all in one go, since it's in surround and the surrounding space is enormously important to the sound. Because of that I couldn't do any fine-tuning at the mixing stage, even if it meant I'd distorted the sense of space. In the end I had to go through thirty attempts before finding one I was fully satisfied with.

All your records have come out on Touch. How did you end up working with this label, and what do you think of them?

I met Jon through my friend Jóhann Jóhannsson, who sent them a demo without my knowing, which led Mike (Harding, co-founder of Touch and music curator, ed.) to get in touch with me because he was interested in releasing it. It wasn't the right moment yet, but we decided that my next work would come out on Touch, and that's what happened with “Without Sinking” and everything since. I really enjoy working with them, they're honest and wonderful people. I trust them completely and feel at home, so I see no reason to go elsewhere. There are a lot of shady people in the music business, and I've made it a rule for myself not to work with people I don't know and don't fully trust.

And what about your experience with múm? You started out with them as a support musician - how did you end up joining the band full-time?

I played with all of them well before they got together and called themselves múm. I still work with them to this day, and I'm also working with Örvar (Smárason, ed.) on a band project of our own. I think my artistic bond with them will go on until one side or the other stops making music.

What do you think you brought to them, and what did they give you?

I suppose I brought them a bit of joy, which really comes through starting with “Go Go Smear The Poison Ivy”, the album I began working with them on. They'd already written most of the music, so I don't think my arrival had much to do with it, not entirely anyway. But having been friends for so long probably brought out everyone's playful side: when we're together it's a constant round of jokes and teasing! They've given me so much in return that I honestly wouldn't know how to sum it up in a single sentence.

What are you working on these days?

Lots of things! I'm developing a new musical instrument together with my friend Hans Jóhannsson, a kind of electroacoustic cello. I'm also starting to work on a performance that should resemble a short opera, or something along those lines. Finally, I'm recording and working on some soundtracks with Jóhann Jóhannsson. And plenty of other things too, lots of sketches scattered here and there.

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